


Going Home

by in_quil_sitive



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger
Genre: Kotlc Moon elves, Melves, Queer Characters, its also why we haven't mey any gay elves, moon elves, or disabled elves, there will be lots of gay people, this is why earth isn't overpopulated by elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24842587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_quil_sitive/pseuds/in_quil_sitive
Summary: The Earth isn't a great place for all elves, what with the strict rules and condescending looks and harsh judgments of society. Where do they go when they grow old, when they don't like this world anymore?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> What's up my fam, I just couldn't get this idea out of my head after we started the melves cult, so I wrote it. WARNING: teensy tiny mention of implied homophobia, for like one sentence.

Wonder is a finite resource, and the Earth is quickly wrung dry of pleasures when it’s boundaries are so isolated and conservative. You cannot see what brings you life, you cannot dance to the sound of the sky, and you cannot reach. Reach what? They don’t know. 

All they know is the constant scorching heat from above, the infernal tug on their core from below, every sight and sound so rough and harsh and demanding and cruel.

You could cut yourself on the wind and bleed dry in the deserts and the Earth would simply grin. 

Once an elf has scaled each mountain twice and swept the ocean floor to the tick of a clock, they are done. They are done with the ‘wonders’ of the surface and the entrapment of the clouds and the ropes of weeds clawing at their feet, trying to hold them down in greed. They are done with the expectations of society and the restrictions where everyone is the same and is expected to love the same, live the same. 

So they leave. 

They leave and they never look back. Why would they? 

What on Earth is left for them? Those they hold most dear no longer look to them, and instead have little ones looking up to them in wonder and curiosity. They are just an old story now, mentioned here and there. Their presence is no longer required. They can only steal kisses behind closed doors, only hold hands when they’re alone.  
So they leave.

When an elf leaves they always take three things. No one knows why. No one tells them to. They have no guide, yet the story is always the same. 

Item number one: a jewel. A necklace frothing with diamonds, an earring dripping molten gold and burning their skin, a diadem laden with feather carvings and crushed starlight, it doesn’t matter. Just pick the one you can’t forget and wear it proudly. It doesn’t matter its original purpose, just put it on. 

Item number two: their second favorite scent. They may be confused as they grab a stick of cinnamon and place it in their pocket, or tuck a bloom of wisteria into their braid, but it’s essential. To what? They don’t know. But they hold it near and dear and don’t let it go. The grass will try and take it, seeking to keep them here, but they will persist. 

And lastly, item number three: a memory. This part takes more time. They take a moment to stop and peruse through each moment of time like a bibliophile in the buried tomb of a library, the lights dim and flickering, the scent of rotting pages and dust floating through the air. They’ll take a moment to grab a volume, sift through the pages, and gently set it aside. 

Once they’ve chosen, they will no longer be the same elf they were only moments before, but that’s for the best. 

Then they wait.

They wait for the golden rays of light to turn hollow and blue and cold. And then they step beneath the leapmaster’s cascades of crystals, and they don’t say a word. They don’t need to.   
Instead of the burst of warm feathers beneath the skin that typically accompanies a leap, this feels as though cold water is dripping down their skin as though the light is frozen rain, the condensation clinging to a cold cup on a warm day. 

It’s the longest leap an elf will ever take, following the beam up and up and up into the sky, past the clouds, the particles of their being slipping through the atmosphere and dancing among the stars. 

Of course, once they truly get out there, they realize just how alone the universe really is. The stars are years and years away, and there is nothing but a dark, blank expanse between them and their destination. They won’t forget that. 

They don’t know how long they were in that void when they arrive, their form still slightly scattered as they stumble to the ground, disoriented.

Their hands slap against a floor made of solid black, small dots of white and gold and red and blue and purple splattered throughout. It takes them a moment to notice their reflection staring back, and a moment more to recognize the dots as stars and constellations.

There is a small crystal next to a window, directing the beam of light they leapt with to form a perfect circle in the middle of a circular room. 

They’re still on the floor when another form shimmers into being in front of them, kneeling down to help them to their feet. 

The stranger has sharply pointed ears, the trademark blue eyes, and curling silver locks reflecting in the soft light. They have so so so many questions, but the stranger simply shakes their head, smiling.

“Welcome home.” 

And they are. They can feel the pressure holding them down lighten, the restraints have eased. The stranger doesn’t ask why they came, doesn’t need to. They’re both there for the same reasons.

Love. They love themselves. And they were no longer willing to let their inner beauty be stifled by the people who claimed to care about them, and desires are sacrifices for the sake of pleasing others.

The stranger introduces themself. “Aydan,” they say. They give their name and Aydan asks if that is really the name they want to keep. They say that they changed their name when they arrived, stopped being she, and became they. Became Aydan. 

Some elves take up the offer, either immediately or with time. There is no time limit to discovering and loving yourself. Others keep their name, keep the same personal identity, and Aydan smiles just as bright either way. 

They ask what jewel they chose to bring, and tells them to observe it now. Silver rings turn iridescent, a faint speck of moonlight is suspended in the place of a diamond in a diadem, the center of white sapphires have turned black as the void. 

They can see Aydan’s own jewel, a layered necklace displaying three phases of the moon, glinting as softly as their hair. They notice the stare and give a mischievous smile.

“You will look the same one day,” they say, “the moonlight has its effects. The more you leap with it, the more the light will seep into your body, and it will eventually be physically noticeable. It may be silver hair, or freckles of constellations, or a map scrawled across your skin. Who knows? Your eyes may even turn black”

Next, Aydan asks for their scent, and it takes a moment to remember the flower in their hair or the cloves in their pocket. They hand it over, and Aydan places it in a small pouch they didn’t realize they were carrying. They don’t know what Aydan will do with it, but perhaps they’ll find out eventually. 

Curious, they ask about the memory they selected before leaving. Aydan doesn’t respond right away. “You’ll know what to do with it.”

They begin to walk away, gesturing for them to follow. As they approach the wall, a small light passes through them, and a tall circle in the wall rolls to the side, revealing an iridescent hallway. Stepping through, they see small specks of light coming from small swarms of lightning bugs, and they find themselves on a balcony, far up above they see a bubble surrounding on all sides. A clear force field--likely the work of a few psionipaths--protecting the elves from the harsh reality of the outside. 

Looking down, they see a sprawling city, rising up on mountains and sinking into craters, elves of all kinds bustling around and laughing. There are women in suits and boys kissing behind alleyways and children passing below in wheelchairs alongside friends. The dull lights shimmer for miles and miles, farther than they can see. A small burst of flame catches their eye, and they turn to see a group playing with fire--literally. The restrictions from Earth are non-existent here, that’s why they all laugh so loud and smile so bright. 

It’s home.


End file.
